Ferris Wheel Blues
by Happy Blue Ink
Summary: No ZA. AU-Fic. Daryl is a mechanic for a traveling carnival. One night when Daryl is called to fix the engine of the ferris wheel, he stumbles upon a small child. Who's the kid? And where's the parent?
1. Chapter 1

Ferris-Wheel Blues

I don't even know _where_ this idea even came from. I just suddenly felt compelled to write this for some strange reason. If you like it, please let me know otherwise I may not even continue this piece or frequent it like my other fics. I had to get this idea out otherwise I wouldn't be able to finish my other fics currently running now. It was a bunch of head noise I needed to get out. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.

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Chapter 1

He stepped out onto the rickety old porch, boards creaking and wailing beneath his bare feet as he moved to its edge. He brought a calloused hand to his brow shielding the harsh glare of the setting sun from his eyes, squinting at the openness of the grassy fields. His upper lip curled as he glanced over the plains, sounds of birds and the chittering of grasshoppers causing enough of a ruckus that he had reluctantly gotten up from his midday nap.

Daryl rubbed the sleep from out of his eyes with the heel of his hand as he adjusted the cup of lukewarm coffee in his free hand taking care not to spill. He let out a low groan as he went to stretch his lithe body up and back, both arms outstretched, his cup still clasped tight in hand. A yawn escaped his lips as he continued to arch up; the succinct popping sound of his cracking back seemed to drown out the background noise of the wilderness expanse. He felt his wife-beater rising up his stomach to reveal a gnarled scar that slithered across his navel, quickly making for the hem to pull it down if someone happened to walk by.

The door behind him was suddenly thrust open accompanied by a lot of garbled shouting. A large burly man shoved past him, making his coffee splash out of the mug and down his hand, droplets pelting his head and face. Daryl let out a huff and set the mug on the rail of the porch, wiping his wet hands on his ratty-holed jeans to dry them. The man whirled on him angrily clipping the walkie-talkie he had just been shouting into back on his thick leather belt with the huge round silver buckle The man's balding ponytail whipped around his face like some sort of flimsy headband. The tinge of red from anger and high blood-pressure starting to creep up from his neck and into his cheeks.

"Dammit Dixon! Watch where yer standin', ya fuckin' moron. Googly eying that damned sunset like some pussy-whipped bitch when ya should be out settin' them rides up like yer 'posed to." Snapped the man.

He got close to his face, the faint stench of liquor permeating off the man as he thumped a meaty finger against Daryl's chest.

"Useless sack o' shit. Don't even know why I still keep ya 'round." He poked harder into the younger man's chest with his garish-ringed finger. Daryl had to dig his nails into his clenched fists to keep himself from sucker-punching the asshole in front of him. "Git on with yer fuckin' duties 'fore I knock them teeth inta the backa yer head."

Daryl bit his bottom lip doing his best to withhold his swelling temper, more specifically to hold his tongue. He had to shut his eyes and let out a strained sigh before he finally grumbled out a "yessir" in response to Jackson's demands. The man seemed to bark at him like he were some fucking mindless drone; some half-minded inbred that had been left out in the sun too long. He hated that. Even if it was just words, they still bothered him. Daryl took a step back cocking his head at the fat man and threw open the screen door into the run-down shack leaving his half-drunk coffee on the rail. He padded down the narrow hallway, bumping along boxes and crates, squeezing past to the small closet-bedroom he would be stuck in for the next few weeks at the end of the hall.

His eyes glanced about the room, hovering over a few torn-up old movie posters that had yellowed at the corners from the brazen sun, wrinkles in the once smooth glossy paper. The smell of cigarettes and dust was thick in the air. Hell, it was like that throughout the entire shack. It hadn't always been that way. At least not initially. When Daryl had first stepped foot into his temporary home a few days ago, the air had been filled with a woody, earthy scent that reminded him of the woods he grew up in back in Georgia. He was silently reminded of home and it made him wish he was more verbal about his place in the carnival troupe. Fuck staying in the hell-hole of a shack, he'd rough it out with the other carnival hands or out among the stars and wilderness if necessary. Jackson wouldn't allow it though. Daryl was always kept close enough to be within arm's reach no matter what. At any cost.

Daryl clicked his tongue against his teeth unamused by the form of "favoritism" he seemed to attract because of his connection with Jackson. It had never made things easy for him. He was fine with that. He had fought most of his life and it would continue that way no matter what. He kicked open his trunk of clothes at the foot of the lopsided cot and pawed through the garments until he found his faded red work-shirt. He stuck his arms through the sleeves and began buttoning it up. Daryl's mind wandered as he worked his fingers up the shirt. He wondered had he not been thrust into this life, if he would have done something different with his time. Rather than spending the next decade of his life as a mechanical engineer for a lack-luster traveling carnival, could he have been doing something better? He felt his lips tug into a scowl knowing the answer to his own question. What would it matter? He was a worthless piece of shit and wouldn't amount to anything. He'd be stuck doing the same shit for the rest of his days; forget if he ever got around to paying off the debt, that would never happen. He buttoned the last button before reaching back into his trunk and finding a pack of cigarettes tucked away with a box of matches. He would need those later.

He could tell it was gonna be one of those nights. It was already in the makings of one of those nights and he would best prepare for it with his smokes and a match. He let out a sigh before shoving his boots onto his feet and left making his way towards the end of the field where the booths and rides were being set up for the nights' affairs.

-/-/-

Loud. The night was loud and full of so much noise, Daryl found it impossible to think. There were so many kids running around and screaming their little lungs out, babies wailing and the rowdily drunk men shouting at one another or the carnival attendants. This shit was getting on his nerves too fast and he wasn't prepared to be out with so much of the bottom dredges of the public. There were so many people all bustling about the booths, their corn-dogs in hand mustard and ketchup smeared down their fronts with a small child being drug along in the other. The sight made him disgusted with the general population. These carnivals tended bring out all the bottom-feeders from out of the wet-works it seemed.

Tonight was different. There were TOO many people here. That never happened opening night in a small town like this. It seemed like the entire town had come to congregate at the heart of the fairgrounds like a sort of hive-mind. The noise had been steadily testing his patience, till that last straw when he heard several children screaming bloody-murder and he could handle no more with the shouting and crying. Daryl hustled behind the booth tents where only the clerks and carnival hands had access to. He needed to get away as quickly as possible from all this head noise. It wasn't like he would be missed anyhow if he just ducked out for a short time. And it was like they wouldn't be able to find him neither, every bastard that was worth something had a walkie dangling from their hip. Every poor bastard, including himself.

Daryl made longer strides trying to quicken his pace as he hopped over a tangle of cables and stumbled out of the way of another encroaching attendant who moved into his path. He felt himself fall back against a rail, tripping over his feet and knew he had made it to his destination, his back slamming against the cool metal. He was at the outskirts of the carnival where the noise couldn't strangle his ears and the obnoxious fair-goers couldn't bother him with absurd questions as if he were an attendant. He let out a sigh in respite as he climbed up onto the rail, boots hooking below the bottom rung to keep his balance.

He removed the cigarette that had been tucked above his ear most of the night, popping it into his mouth. Daryl had fought back the urge to tuck tail and run so he could smoke in peace, but after finding himself stuck with a wrench in the engine of the broken down "zipper" ride, the noise suddenly became too much for him to comfortably deal with. No sooner had he shoved his wrench and Phillips screwdriver into his belted tool satchel, Daryl was out of sight. He finished the job and immediately set off in search of quiet solace. He struck a match against the rail, bringing the tiny flickering flame to the tip of his cigarette. He breathed it to life and took a long generous drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and out through his nostrils, exhaling in a calm sigh. Daryl knocked the ashes off the tip as he enjoyed the comfortable silence; the soft roar of the crowds in the distance barely audible, chirping of crickets easing his befuddled mind.

He enjoyed nights like these where he could sneak away and just sit by himself with a smooth cigarette tucked away for safe keeping. The dull buzzing of a mosquito flirted with his neck, dipping in close to leave its toxic kiss upon weathered-exposed skin. He swatted the bug with a firm slap, killing it and nonchalantly picking the dead body off his hand as if that was how it had always been.

"Asshole." He muttered under his breath, wiping the guts on the thigh of his pants.

A loud crackle broke the gentle silence, reminding Daryl that he wasn't free of the bullshit he had just left. A garbled voice barked from the speaker of the walkie demanding a mechanic. Jackson was looking for him... Again.

"Dixon, the fuck're you? Yer stupid ass is needed at the Ferris Wheel. Shit just broke for the third time tanight. Now git on it 'fore I drag yer ass to it." The voice snarled loud so everyone with a walkie could hear it.

Daryl let out the stream of smoke he had held and snubbed the last bit of his cigarette out. He huffed at being called out like that but shrugged it off. It wasn't like this was anything new in his life. He unhooked the walkie from his pocket and groused, "Be there ASAP."

He clipped the infernal black box to his belt making his way back to the heart of the fairgrounds. Of course, the ferris wheel being the star attraction had to be in the middle of the fucking park where everyone seemed to congregate. It was like a beacon that spoke out to the simpletons that harkened for their twenty-dollar ticket stubs to be wasted on a ride that did nothing but reveal a night view and turned ever so gently. He didn't understand the appeal of the ride. It was boring and broke down most nights.

Jackson always called on Daryl to fix the stupid thing at least once each night. He had grown so accustomed to the engine of the ferris wheel, that it became a sick-cycle love affair. He would leave to take care of the engine of another ride that had just died and no sooner had he ducked down into the hood of the broken machine, the ferris wheel would call him back to mend its broken heart. It was his jealous lover and Daryl hated the damned machine. The ferris wheel was a mock interpretation of his life and how it had always been it seemed. Just when Daryl thought he would be able to break things off, when everything seemed like they were all fixed, things combusted and fell apart and he was stuck yet again with another sliver of hope yanked from his hands.

Daryl finally came to the base of the ferris wheel, its bright lights illuminating the area so everyone could see him and he could see them. He hated how effulgent the damned thing was. Its lights never ceased to dim nor burn out it seemed. Frankly, he wished the fucking wheel would just topple over and he could be done with the damned thing. He couldn't even count the several times he had smashed his finger with a hammer, dropped a wrench on his face from beneath its carriage or been squirted in the face from its oil on his hands and toes. It was just a bad-news ride for him through and through. The only reason the fucking ride was kept continuously carnival after carnival, was because Daryl knew exactly how it worked. Every mechanism and every pulley inside the engine he could make sing like a symphony opera singer with no more than just a few minutes of tinkering away with undivided attention. If he could make it do a back-flip and recite the first verse of "Freebird", he was sure he could do it.

Daryl chuckled a bit to himself as he made his way towards the back-end of the ride. There it was. The heart of the ferris wheel. It was encased in a metal slating; its chipped blue paint weathered from the many harsh suns it had sat under since '79. He patted the hood before plucking a set of keys from his hip, undoing the lock and setting it on the key-ring. He threw up the hood as a cloud of steam flooded the area. Immediately Daryl backed away before the steam went past his face knowing all too well what happened with a face full of steam. He shifted his weight back and forth from his left to his right foot as the steam dissipated and he was clear to begin work on the engine. His first encounter with the ferris wheel had given him quite the trouble. It was almost exactly the same scenario save for the fact that it had been his first time trying to deal with the obnoxious sonovabitch.

The pressure valves all seemed to be in good working order. Never a good sign. Always meant something was wrong that he couldn't visually see. He stooped low removing a panel underneath the engine, pulling himself under the carriage to take a look. It was the smell of burnt flesh and singed fur that initially had him scrambling out from under the engine. Daryl crawled to his hands and knees, trying not to heave from the wretched stink of death that had slapped him hard from under the engine carriage.

"Is that fuckin' engine fixed yet Dixon?" Crackled the walkie-talkie from Daryl's hip. He gulped down the need to heave, massaging the base of his throat to ease himself from that driving notion to purge. He fell back sitting on his legs and quickly retorted into the walkie, "Yeah, almost got it. Smells like a couple o' cats- maybe possums got caught in the gears. Have 'em out in a bit."

"Hurry the hell up! I'm gettin' complaints 'bout it not bein' up, Dixon! And you know what that means? Money we ain't makin' so make it quick or you ain't gettin' paid neither!" Jackson snapped and the walkie went dead with a static buzz.

"Fuckin' asshole- like ta see him fuckin' crawl his slitherin' fat-ass under this piece of shit and do it himself," Daryl grumbled to himself as he yanked the rag from his back pocket and wrapped it around his nose and mouth. He would be better prepared this way to remove the dead things from out of the gears without getting himself sick inhaling the putrid fumes of death. It wasn't often that wild animals got caught in the gears of the machines, but it did happen and it was almost always the most disgusting thing to clean up he had found out.

Daryl spent another few minutes extracting the dead bodies out from under the carriage, grimacing the entire time at the mess of bones and gore that sat piled near his legs. Almost no fur could be salvaged nor was there any that made the animals any more distinguishable. Their small skulls were crushed to broken splinters and sinewy muscle ground into a mush. He felt bad for the poor bastards that had climbed up into the gears hoping for a warm place to sleep for the night only to find themselves ground up to nothing but a wad of meat and bone shards.

Finally wriggling out from beneath the engine, he replaced the bottom panel and made his way over to connect the power cables to the power generator. Daryl flipped the switch of the engine and it gently purred to life. He felt himself smirking at having accomplished his mission for the night. He tugged the hood down and patted it again before locking the doors up and walking away.

A small cough stole him from his moment of triumph and he had to double-take to make sure he heard right. Daryl looked around before spying a small girl sitting behind one of the booths nearest the ferris wheel, her bright blue eyes finding his and holding steady on him. She clutched tighter onto the stuffed animal that she had won at one of the booths, curling more into herself making attempts to shrink away from the strange man. He froze not really sure what to do or how to approach the child who was obviously afraid of him just as much as he was of her. Daryl looked away and pretended to fiddle with his belted tool-bag, moving the wrench and screwdrivers around creating a symphony of clanging. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the girl's blonde hair was pulled back in a headband hanging limply above her shoulders and again her eyes somehow found his. There was a certain fear in her eyes that he knew all too well himself. It wasn't just the fear of being separated from a parental figure; this was something deeper that he had felt himself before.

A voice crackled out of the walkie-talkie at his hip breaking his train of thought forcing him to focus on the information being spewed out. "There's a report of a missing child on the fairgrounds. Blonde-hair. Blue-eyes. Female." Daryl's eyes trained on the girl and made a mental check-list ticking off all the details being listed that the girl had. "Her name is Sophia. She will be wearing a white-striped shirt with a bright red headband in her hair. If you find this child report to the front of the fairgrounds. The mother will be waiting for you there. If you saw this child leave with someone please let us know so the authorities can be notified."

She was the missing child that they were looking for. Daryl let out a low growl at his dumbassed luck. If it wasn't one thing it was another and he sure as fuck knew he wasn't fond of kids or sure on how to exactly deal with them. Yeah, tonight was one of those nights.

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**A/N: I'd like to say that I don't know shit about engines and tried researching the ferris wheel, but that bastard is hard to get meaty information on... so /shrug if it's wrong. It can't be helped. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it! Don't forget to review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Ferris Wheel Blues

Thank you all for the feedback on this piece! I was really astounded by all the support for it. I'm glad you guys like the direction I'm taking this.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 2

The little girl sat still and Daryl stood just as rigid as she, the two in a silent standoff; the other being just as unsure as the one in front of them. She let out another cough tightening her grip on her stuffed animal scooting an inch away from him. Daryl scowled realizing that this shit was not gonna be easy. He had never really dealt with kids before and having to escort a missing child at that didn't bode well in his favor. Shit was never in his favor even when all the cards were on the table laid out just for him, he somehow managed to fuck it up no matter what.

"Yer lost." Daryl finally grunted out, scratching at his nose unsure of whether he should be asking her or telling her what she already knew.

She nodded at the dirt-smudged mechanic, her eyes still trained on him like a hawk. Her unblinking gaze was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He didn't like being stared at, even if he was just some piece of shit country boy. He hated being the center of attention, but somehow found himself at the heart of it. And here he was— again: center of this child's attention; her "savior" to deliver her to her Ma. The girl's eyes were locked on him like he simply wasn't real and if she looked away for just a second Daryl might just disappear from her.

Finally the girl spoke.

"Can you take me to my Momma?" Her voice was so small and warbled in its pitch as if this were the first time in a long while she had spoken to another human being.

Daryl diverted his attention to his feet, making attempts to work the toe of his boot into the ground to create a hole. Maybe if he worked at it long enough he would dig a hole deep enough for him to hide in. This was just not his forte. Especially trying to be comforting to a frightened child, nope, no siree, not him. He sugar-coated nothin' when it came to dealin' with people and he sure as hell wouldn't start with a child. Kid had to learn on her own that life wasn't just rainbows and shit like that. His Daddy had made sure of that when he was growing up; whipped him up good he did.

Daryl had already made his bed though, he would just have to lie in it now. If he had just ignored the girl and kept on walking he wouldn't be feeling so out of place, but he didn't stop and he was stuck making attempts to coax the kid to him. He finally nodded at her realizing that she had been waiting on him to answer her question. The girl must have thought he was slow with how long he took to formulate his sentences in response to her statements.

"Yeah," he drawled a little unsure of whether he should have answered in the first place. Figurin' that he had already acknowledged her lack of presence with her Ma, only seemed fair he'd return her to her. "I can take ya to yer Ma." He finally muttered back, taking another look at her. "Yer Sophia, right?"

She nodded again. Her bushy blonde hair bobbing back and forth, her brows furrowed in hard angles. Poor kid was probably on the verge of spilling big ol' crocodile tears and didn't even know it with the way her big blue eyes glistened under the garish lights.

"You know my Momma? She send you fer me?" Her bottom lip trembled with such force Daryl was surprised she had even managed to form any coherent words.

Daryl fidgeted with the hangnail on his thumb, carefully chewing the skin off with precise nibbles. He seemed to only make things worse when he questioned the girl. There was obviously something more at work here than just being lost that had her scared shitless. He could feel Sophia's fear thick in the air and it was starting to really make him uncomfortable the way she was just emitted this amount of terror at the notion of being lost. This wasn't just the phobia of being separated from a loved-one. This was on a level much deeper than just physical appearances alone could reveal to him and he didn't want no part of that.

Daryl absently shook his head at the recollection, losing himself in his thoughts. The blonde girl's eyes were still trained on his form. He finally found his voice breaking the permeable silence.

"Let's just find yer Ma." He muttered, beckoning her over to him. "C'mon."

Sophia quirked a curious brow unsure of whether the man shuffling nervously before her was being truthful or just lying through his teeth. She squirmed a little in her spot before weighing his words carefully in her head. Finding the merit in what he said to be true, Sophia pushed to her feet, standing on shaky legs. She didn't move.

Daryl let out a frustrated sigh watching the inner clockwork of the girl's mind deciding on her next move. How was this so damned difficult? Why of all things did he attract broken things? It was like some fuckin' stupid curse with him. Even as a kid he would find the fucked up stray dogs that had been beaten within an inch of their lives by their owners, limpin' and snarling' their way along even with a link of sausage dangling from their mouths that he had given them. He'd been bit on more than one occasion trying to coax the mean bastards, but with the amount of cruelty they'd been shown, no small bit of kindness on his part made them any less resistant to his help. He would even stumble across the animals that had been struck by cars, strugglin' with their last breaths as they crawled along the asphalt on their bellies legs trailin' after 'em. Hell, Daryl had even seen his own Ma burned to nothin'.

The mechanic furrowed his brows at the thought of his Ma and the fire when he was a kid. It hadn't felt real and it still didn't. Daryl figured maybe he would run into her at one of the dives he would meander into one night after a shift and maybe they would acknowledge each other from the other end of the bar and go about their lives like it had never happened. He hadn't thought of his Ma in years and didn't quite figure why this tiny kid compelled him to dwell on his past. Daryl suddenly found himself stooping to get to the kid's level shaking off his own thoughts. He had to try and convince her to follow him otherwise, he'd probably be sittin' behind the damned Ferris Wheel all night exchanging awkward glances with the girl. Maybe he would be less intimidating if he wasn't standing around shuffling like a damned fool. His legs coiled beneath him, joints popping and groaning as he adjusted to a comfortable crouch.

"Kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya." He growled, fingers twitching. He was feeling the itch again. His nerves were creating an anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't shake off, which he knew could only be quelled with another cigarette. This shit was going to force him to finish the entire pack by the end of the night. He just knew that that was what would go down. "We can sit here all night, but if you ain't movin' I ain't takin' ya to yer Ma."

She shifted on scrawny chicken legs contemplating his words before taking a hesitant step forward. Daryl smirked knowing well that he had finally manipulated the situation to better suit his needs. He popped up from his crouched position, shaking out the pins and needles sensation ebbing up his calves. Gently massaging the sinewy muscle with deft fingers, working through the striated fibers.

Sophia let out another cough to let him know she was ready. She stood in front of him, arms wound tight around the neck of her stuffed animal. Daryl was sure if she had been holding an actual animal, the thing would have suffocated long before he ever found her. She had a mean death grip on the poor sonovabitch. Animal would have been squealing bloody murder and no one would hear it with all the racket goin' on from all the carnival games and people scurrying about their business. She coughed again. With her being so close, he noticed the wet sound of her cough then. The dull roar of the people on the other side of the Ferris wheel drowned out the finer details he had not caught the first time around. He wasn't sure what to think of this. Was the girl sick? What was with her coughing? Was she just clearing her throat? Maybe he was thinking too much into things.

Daryl shrugged listlessly at her and began his trek to the other side of the fair grounds with the girl in tow. He would check every few seconds to ensure she was still trailing behind him, but did not feel the need to do so as often when he would catch the small cough echoing behind him. Her steps were so featherlight he at one point thought he had lost Sophia; come to find she had been trailing him like his own damned shadow. He caught the gentle tug of a smile on her lips at his head jerking around looking for her.

Daryl scowled and grumbled out of earshot, "Fuckin' kids and their damned jokes, find shit so fuckin' funny."

They came across a large group of people that seemed particularly interested in their newest attraction: the bungee jump. The crowd was thick with people. Of course this would make things more difficult for him. Daryl ducked down in front of the girl so he was at her eye level.

"Follow me an' stay close." He replied, wagging his finger at her. She nodded jerkily at him making clear she understood, eyes wide and afraid.

He let out a deep sigh through his nostrils and took a step forward. Daryl pushed through the crowd trying his best to make a path for Sophia to follow after. His temper was beginning to get the better of him as he attempted to get around a stocky and rather drunk guest, whom had shoved him in retaliation. He waved for Sophia to stand back just in case the man decided to get rowdy with him.

"Move yer fuckin' ass out of my way. I ain't lookin' fer a fight." Daryl snarled tryin' to make clear he didn't want any trouble.

The man shoved him again forcing Daryl to take a step back. "C'mon ya pussy fuckin' hit me," the man slurred.

"Man, fuck you. I got a lil' girl. I ain't gonna fight ya." He growled eyes narrowed. He wasn't 'bout to trade hay-makers with some drunk that wouldn't even feel it. Why did it seem like the world was out to beat his ass any chance it got?

"Yeah fuck you, ya little bitch." The drunk sussed as he stumbled forward, swaying to and fro.

Daryl chewed at his cheek, fist clenched at his side, nails digging into rough flesh as he guided Sophia around the asshole giving him shit. If he weren't gonna move, may as well try and go 'round. After the first set of heavyset guests he had to tap on the shoulder to get to move out of his way, Daryl felt a strong tug at his shirt that near choked him a little at the collar. He looked down and saw Sophia's hand grabbing fistfuls of his coattails holding on for dear life. Her desire to choke out her plush prize had subsided and she traded its comfort for Daryl's shirt. He huffed as he tried adjusting his collar so she wouldn't choke him out too much as they made their way through the crowd.

It was like a marathon ducking around balloons, hopping over small children and swerving out of the way of oncoming strollers with gurgling babies. The babies worried him. More specifically the strollers did. The way the mothers drove those things made him fearful of the kinds of drivers they were like on the road. He would be lyin' if he had not yet to meet with the wheels of one of those things. Strollers hurt like a bitch.

They made it through the crowds after several minutes and he felt his body relax from the unwanted physical proximity he had to endure. Sophia seemed to relax just as the same letting out a heavy sigh alongside him. Daryl's scowl softened and he let out a chuckle as they spied the gates no more than a hundred yards away. Her grip on his shirt loosened but was still firmly bunched in her small fist.

"You can let go now, kid." He replied when she accidentally yanked on his shirt a second time, making him gasp hand flying to his throat, gingerly massaging it. Her brows furrowed and she quickly apologized, her voice wavering as if on the verge of being hit again. Daryl quirked a curious brow at her before reassuring her that he wasn't going to strike her.

"I ain't gonna hit ya kid. Just calm down." He grunted as he ushered her to the front gates. They had finally made it to their destination, but of course like all things in his life nothing was ever in his favor or even remotely as it was promised to him. No one was there. They were alone at the front gates and not a single person was waiting for them.

Daryl could feel the panic set in the girls steps as she scampered ahead of him towards the gate, peeking through the chain links. Her plush dangled forgotten at her side as she climbed up a bit to get better view leverage.

"You said my Momma would be here." Her voice quivered thick with an accusatory tone as she stepped down from the fence.

Sophia looked up, misty blue eyes glaring harshly at him. Daryl couldn't help but feel partially responsible. They said the Mother would be here, but that was simply not the case. He felt like a liar and a fool. What did he expect just taking initiative like that in hopes that things would go smoothly for him? Life never made it easy. Why would this time be any different?

Wasn't much at this point that could be done but figure out where the mother went or was. "One second," he murmured and depressed the button on the walkie to speak. "Dixon here. I've got that missin' lil' girl. Her Ma ain't anywhere in sight. I'm at the front gates."

The box crackled in his hand for a few seconds before a voice rasped back, "Tommy over. Which gates?"

"The parking lot front gates."

Another pause. "Ya damn moron." The walkie snapped. "She's at the other set of front gates. Can't you do nothin' right without fuckin' shit up, Dixon?"

"'Ey, fuck you Tommy. How the fuck was I su'posed to know that? What the hell you wan' me to do now?" He hissed into the receiver trying not to let Sophia hear the argument or his use of colorful language. The last thing he needed was for the girl to go complainin' to her Ma sayin' he tainted her precious daughter with his country boy slang.

There was a long pause before Tommy in a calm and collected tone replied, "Mrs. Peletier is on her way. Just stay where you are."

Daryl stared confused at what had just happened. It almost sounded like Tommy had just been verbally reprimanded because his tone had done a complete 180 degrees. He had taken on a slow and polite, yet forced tone with him. There had been no personal insult thrown in his face neither. Who the hell was this woman? He raked a hand through his hair unsure of whether he had just prodded the bull. What was he going to expect when he finally delivered the girl to her Ma. Was she going to flip her shit on him because he had found her daughter? He wasn't exactly the makings of a model citizen. Daryl was well aware that he was just some dirty white boy with his goat's scruff and a cigarette tucked above his ear, ratty shredded jeans and grease stains pattering his face and hands. The mother would take one look at him and assume he had defiled her little girl in some way, verbally or otherwise.

He looked to Sophia who was clinging to the fence tryin' to see if her Ma's car was still in the parking lot. He couldn't really blame the kid. He'd gotten lost like that before. 'Cept it had been for nine whole days and not a single person knew he'd been missin'. Daryl approached the girl, while still maintaining good distance from her. Somehow he had made it to the gates with nothing major happenin' in the process. The girl was fine beside her incessant cough that seemed to stir at the most infrequent times. She hadn't gotten lost or left from out of his sight. All they had to do was wait and Sophia would be taken off his hands and he could go back to hiding under one of the hoods of the broken-down engines. The thought made him ease up a bit.

"'Ey, yer Ma is on her way to meet us here." He drawled, his own fingers hooking through the links, eyes staring out at the herd of cars corralled in the parking lot.

Sophia looked up towards Daryl, her eyes finding his. They made brief eye contact, before Daryl looked away. Her gaze was still unnerving even if she didn't mean it to be. She nodded in thanks and let go of the fence moving away and towards the lamp post near the single ticket booth. She took a seat, her knobbly knees drawn up, stuffed animal clutched against her chest. Daryl followed after her leaning against the other side of the booth window. He fumbled at his chest pocket trying to fish a cigarette out of its packaging.

As he went to strike the match against the booth he felt a pair of eyes silently boring into him. He looked down to his right shoulder, Sophia's gaze carefully following every movement of his fingers. Daryl arched a brow at her, cigarette wiggling between his lips as he stared right back.

"Problem?" He challenged. Sophia's eyes watched as the cigarette bounced up and down as he mumbled under his breath things she couldn't quite make out.

Sophia opened her mouth then shut it. Daryl could see her tryin' to figure out whether she should talk back to him. She blinked a few times, before breaking her silence. "My Daddy smokes. I don't like it." She whispered looking away from Daryl at the mention of the patriarch. Seemed to him that the man was someone he didn't want to trifle with the way her tone quivered.

Daryl shrugged and tucked the cigarette above his ear, pocketing his box of matches. He dug his hands into his pockets letting out a long drawn out sigh throwing his head up. He glared at the stars in the dark blanket above his head wishing the girl's Ma would hurry the hell up so he could go back to being a white trash mechanic for a traveling carnival. He sure as hell weren't no babysitter. What the hell was he even doing? Why the fuck was he waiting? Wasn't like the pipsqueak couldn't wait herself. She'd be fine— but what if she wandered off with some jackass? It would be his head on the pike and that'd be the last thing he'd need. Especially having to face an angry mother. Hell hath no fury and he knew better'n most of that.

He angrily raked his fingers through his hair not quite understanding his own incessant need to take care of lost and damaged things. It never got him anywhere before— what made this girl any different than any other time? Why didn't he just keep walking? Just run away like he always did? Why did he bother to stay?

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Ferris Wheel Blues

Ah... I don't have much to say beyond thank you all for being so supportive and interested in this silly fic of mine. If I could give you all a hug, I would totally do it. Don't know where this chapter came from. Simple drabbles that exploded into this huge chapter. I hope you all enjoy.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 3

His pace quickened as he patrolled back and forth in front of the ticket booth, head jerking to look over to the heavy crowds still enjoyin' themselves at the carnival. For as late as it was people still milled about at the attractions. Booths were still crammed with people trying desperately for that one prize, wastin' their money on cheap thrills and shitty rigged games. The theory that some guests, he often overheard at times, had 'bout them games bein' rigged? All true. Not a single one was legit and it bothered him some that the kid had one of them prizes tucked protectively under her twiggy arm. How much money had been spent to win her one o' them things? 20 bucks? Hell, maybe even 30 bucks?

The kid had knocked out soon after they had settled against the ticket booth; head drooped onta her left shoulder, mouth hangin' open ta catch flies. Tuckered herself out from her anxiety of being away from her Ma. What with all the people bustlin' about, shoutin' and actin' stupid because they could, he weren't surprised that she had just crashed out on him as she did. Too much ta handle fer one adventure he supposed.

It had already been a half hour and the girl's Ma had yet to make her way over. What was takin' the damned woman so long? What was even goin' on? How much longer could he afford to be away from his work before he got yelled at again? He huffed in exasperation knowing trouble was gonna be on its way. He hadn't expected it ta take this long to hand off the child to her Ma. He could feel anxious knots beginning to twist and turn over in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like that feelin'. Always made it seem like there was hell to pay and lickin' or two to receive.

Daryl looked up from his pacin' having created a rather obvious pace trail in the dirt hopin' that this would be the last time he would have ta glance up. He stopped in his tracks, quirking his head at the pair of green-gray eyes that met his own pair of blues. Her head bobbed up as she timidly made her way over to him.

The woman ambled up to him, fingers clutchin' tight a flimsy lookin' canvas bag. It looked like she had stolen the bag from some hobo with all its random patch jobs and the two different straps that held it together. Her eyes were tired, her brow furrowed, and she worried her bottom lip unsure of how to formally approach him. He snorted, a slight sneer tuggin' at his lips. Like there could be any formalities to make him feel like some uppity citizen.

Daryl stared at her. He had half been expecting a large rotund woman with arms the size of his head, but instead the woman had been quite opposite. She was a small, petite woman, wrapped in a gray woolen sweater. Her silvery peppered hair looked as if it had been sheared with a pair of dulled scissors just several nights before, shagged out wisps of hair stickin' up here an' there like they didn't know which way ta go.

She pursed her lips before speaking. "I'm Carol Peletier. I believe you're the one who's been watching my girl?" She murmured softly, the fearful undertone in her voice catchin' in her pitch.

Daryl had to lean in a bit to catch all that she had said, but he already knew why she was there. He motioned for her to follow him 'round the front of the booth pointin' to the girl that lay curled up against the wall.

The woman's fearful expression ebbed away and a small thin-lipped smile graced her features. He arched a brow at the woman. He didn't quite understand i_this_/i. It was like all her worries had been washed away at takin' that one look at her kid. His Ma had never looked like that when she looked his way. Maybe it was because she didn't wanna see him or that she was too fucked up on her wine to bother with him. Or perhaps it was because he looked just like his Daddy, same steely blue eyes and that spiteful scowl. All he knew was that his Ma never looked so vulnerable as this woman in front of him did in this one moment.

Daryl watched as she moved towards her daughter, delicately pushing a wisp of hair out of the girl's face. The sadness he had seen in the girl's eyes earlier were mirrored back in this woman's eyes and it bothered him the more he observed that they were of the same side coin. All of 'em.

She sucked in a shuddered sob as she grimaced slightly. "Baby, it's time to go. We have to leave. Please get up for me." The woman cooed as she cupped the girl's face in her hands. Sophia stirred from her slumber and her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her Ma.

"Momma!" The girl cried and she threw her arms 'round her mother's neck. The two fell back into the dirt; the silver-haired woman rockin' back an' forth as she hugged her kid cooin' sweet things inta her ear.

Daryl seemed to not exist to the pair and it bothered him none. He was always bein' ignored in one way or another. He had gotten used ta such treatment. He shrugged his shoulders figurin' this would be the same as all the other times he had done favors for others and started makin' his way back towards the carnival. Back to where he belonged.

"Wait!" A voice cried out from behind him.

Daryl stopped and looked over his shoulder, eyebrow drawn up. The woman rushed towards him, her girl held tight in her arms, legs danglin' like a rag-doll's all limp-like. What did she want now?

"'Scuse me, I didn't get your name." She moved closer towards him.

He took a step back in the direction he had been heading. Daryl snorted at her statement. "Cos I didn't give it." He replied thickly as he stared down the woman.

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his tone and she blinked at him a few times unsure of what she had done to warrant such a response.

Daryl just wanted her to leave him alone. He had wasted enough time waitin' for her to pick up her damned kid. He sure as hell didn't want her takin' up anymore of his time with her forced gratitude. "I'm sorry. You must be busy. I just— just wanted to thank you was all." She mumbled softly ducking her head at him and hurrying off in the opposite direction.

Daryl quietly whirled around stalking closer to the gates, his fingers latching onto the rusted fence links. He watched her retreating form as she moved swiftly towards the parking lot and took off in a busted ol' Cherokee. The car speedin' off, tail lights a strip of red trailin' in the distance. He harrumphed at the car that disappeared into the night and meandered about the front before he kicked a flurry of dirt up and derisively went back to his typical duties.

He shoved his hands into his pockets fishing out his box of matches wanting to finally let loose his nerves. That was when he saw it. He turned to look back at the woman's car but it had already gone outta sight. He approached the plush bunny prize that lay on the ground; its pale white fur stained with dirt. He stooped to his knees, joints poppin' and picked it up, fingers runnin' along the soft faux fur. Daryl's lip curled up as he pushed back to his feet, trying to understand why the woman would spend all that money on a prize toy at a booth and not take it with her.

He turned the thing over in his hands, fingers playin' with the long floppy ears, eyes scannin' over the onyx button eyes and the sewn pink mouth. There weren't any tears in the limbs, nor any real damage done to the thing 'sides the stuffing in the neck havin' been thinned due to the girl's vice grip. Otherwise, the toy was still good. At least this was what he considered to be good. He didn't have no toys like this growin' up, even if it were just a poorly thrown together piece of fabric. His Ma and Pa never had the money to get nice things for him an' Merle. It was either Good-Will or Salvation Army an' both was pushin' it for his Pa to step foot into. He'd never been one to take a handout and steppin' inside a one of them second-hand stores was just as close to a handout as one could get and he didn't like that one bit.

Daryl tucked the thing into his belt unsure of whether he planned on keepin' the plush or just chuckin' it when he found a dump bin. He passed several bins on his way to a run-down attraction, fan belt havin' come loose again. The main operator of the ride was cacklin' up a storm at the silly plush danglin' from his belt, but he didn't care. None of the things they said about him being a 'faggot' or a little 'bitch' got under his skin. Their words held no water in comparison to the merit his Daddy flung at him.

He shut the hood and shoved the operator out of his way, making his way over to another busted ride. It had been a long night and it sure as hell weren't over just yet.

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The filtered sun rays danced about his face, blinding him as the curtain fluttered open from the stagnant breeze. Daryl squinted, yawned and then stretched, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, rubbin' the sleep from his eyes. It was already mid-afternoon and the air was hot, a dry heat. He grumbled at the sweat glistenin' off his tanned skin and his bangs plastered to his forehead. Another day at the carnival. Another day under the hood of the same bullshit broken-down machines. Another day as this fuckin' shitty mechanic. He sighed before readying himself for another day's worth of work ahead of him.

He clambered over the crowded hall with its boxes of junk and what-god-knows else trying his best not to ram his arms and hands into the boxes. He'd already received a nasty cut along his arm after he tried gettin' past Jackson's fat-ass earlier that morning after all his tasks had been completed. Ran right into an old bureau, arm catching a shard of wood which dug, splintering into his skin. He'd done what he could, using a knife to whittle the piece of wood shards out of his arm. Weren't like there were any tweezers he could snag and use to get the pieces out. Daryl glanced at the still open and fresh wound. He'd wrapped it with an old shirt he had found, cut it into thin strips and made a generic tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but had been soaked through when he'd gotten up that mornin'.

He found himself wandering in the kitchen. Not findin' much anything to eat 'sides a vast amount of hard liquors littering the counter tops an' tables, he left the confines of the kitchen, figurin' he would be goin' without food once more.

He weren't expectin' nobody that day. 'Specially not her.

He'd caught her seeking him out as he stalked over to his first routine maintenance of the day. She tried hailing him but he ignored her, not thinkin' it was him she was wantin' to talk to in the first place. And why would she? She had no business with him.

"'Scuse me." She cried, takin' longer strides, hobo bag bouncin' 'long side her hip.

Daryl finally stopped and turned to glare at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow huffing that this woman had the nerve to come after him like he owed her somethin'.

"The hell you want?" He barked, eying her up an' down. He noticed the sparkle of her eyes, bright mixed with a glint of fear. Her lips pursed an' she slowed down in her brisk walk towards him.

She hesitated before taking a step closer. He seemed mad, which he was; havin' been interrupted in his work twice in the past 24 hours by this woman and her lost kid weren't somethin' he was fond of.

"I got shit ta do, lady. The hell d'ya want?" He barked again after she failed to respond to him. He didn't have time for this shit. He threw his hands up in frustration before takin' off towards the carousel after he failed to receive a response from the woman. Daryl could hear the soft patter of her footsteps behind him and he whirled on her finding it a large annoyance to him that she followed him like some lost puppy-dog, not a word spoke. "What're you doin'?"

The woman stumbled back surprised at his sudden reaction. She was a jumpy thing. Her mouth hung slightly open. She worried her lip before muttering, "I wanted to thank you... For last night."

Daryl's sneered at her, not buyin' her bullshit excuse. "You already did that. What're you really here fer? It sure as fuck ain't to say no 'thanks'. What d'ya want from me?" He snarled, glaring daggers into her trembling form. He backed off slightly realizing that he was somewhat overreactin' by the way she seemed to flinch at his words. He could feel the other carnival hands eyes on them. Audiences. He didn't like them.

He huffed, cockin' his head at her, hands hooked into his belt loops. "Look either ya tell me or we're done here. I have shit that has ta get done 'fore all them assholes show up fer the nigh'."

The woman massaged the base of her throat before whispering, "Can I talk to you fer a moment? Privately?"

Daryl drew a brow up not understanding why she would ask that. He shrugged his shoulders, wiping his brow again. Them standin' in the heat as they were wasn't doin' nothin' to quell his already burnin' temper.

He absently nodded and guided her to where he was expected to be. He threw open the hood of the engine and began his tinkerin'. Daryl could feel her eyes on him, watchin' his every move like she expected him to stop what he was doin' and provide the utmost attention to her. He huffed annoyed by her presence, quickly duckin' his head out of the hood, slammin' it shut in the process. He hadn't meant ta do that. She jumped back startled by the sudden noise, takin' a step back.

"The hell ya want?" He growled, yanking his grease rag from his pocket. "Seems ta me like I owe ya somethin' when I don't even know you."

The woman shook her head. "No not at all." Her lips pursed again and she looked away from him. That was when he caught sight of it. The caked on makeup beneath her eye. He'd been so pissed that he hadn't noticed the amount of foundation shit that women used to hide blemishes. There were still swirls of purple and blues peeking through her hasty patch job. His brow furrowed and he felt himself pull down his anger.

Daryl diverted his eyes away from her not wantin' to be caught starin' at her. She was just as pathetic as himself, but he just wasn't sure who was more pathetic: her or himself.

"What do you want from me, lady?" He drawled, the edge in his tone less aggravated than before.

Her eyes met his in the first time they had came in contact with one another since earlier that night. He'd lie if he said he'd never seen eyes like hers. Truth was he saw hers in his own all the time. She quirked her mouth before speakin'.

"Carol. I'm Carol." She replied, looking back to her feet. "I don't want anythin' from you— I'm sorry. I never did catch your name."

Daryl sighed, not wantin' to create a tie with her by givin' his name. That was all it took and then you were stuck with people ya never wanted to be known by in the first place. "Daryl Dixon." He grudgingly offered up, a scowl settling his lips, his eyes focused on her.

He noticed the way her throat bobbed like she was nervous 'bout talkin' with him.

"Mr. Dixon—" She was cut off. He held up a hand stoppin' her firmly in place. He couldn't stand bein' called 'Mr. Dixon'. It sounded too much like he was his Pa and he wanted no ties to that sonuvabitch. "That's my Pa. Don't care fer formalities. Just 'Daryl'." He said as he tucked the grease rag back into his pocket, havin' tried riddin' his hands of the grease and grime still stuck defiantly under his nails.

Carol bobbed her head at him, takin' heed of his tone. He may not have outright snapped at her but she caught on well enough that Daryl didn't care about no titles. Shit like that never belonged to him and they wouldn't no matter whose mouth it came out of. It could be the goddamned president awardin' him some fuckin' medal and he'd still feel like a nobody.

"Daryl." She let his name sit on her tongue as the corner of her mouth tugged slightly up. The way his name rolled of her tongue seemed okay. He wasn't used ta people callin' him by his name 'sides Merle who could never pronounce it right. Dumb bastard lived with him for near two decades and could neither figure out the correct pronunciation.

"Oh!" She chimed, breakin' his train a thought. She was suddenly realizin' somethin' he had no idea of. It may have been her reasonin' fer showin' up in the first place. Daryl couldn't be sure. He raised an arched brow not quite figurin' out what she was doin' rummagin' in that damned hobo bag of hers. Fuckin' thing musta been like 80 years old with the way it was tattered and frayed. He was surprised the thing was even useful or had even lasted as long as it did.

She finally brought out a small paper bag that looked like it had been hastily shoved to the bottom a her bag. It looked rather heavy the way she held it with both hands offerin' it out to him like it were his. Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands on his hips unsure if he should take it. "Made this for you." She stammered, offerin' it up once more, a slight crease in her brow as if she were preparin' for the worse.

Daryl hesitantly took a step forward and took the package in both hands. He hugged it to his chest tryin' ta get a better grasp on it. He cradled the bag in his arms opening it up to a wafting smell of freshly baked cornbread. The smell hit him like a truck fillin' his nostrils 'till all he breathed and tasted was the sweet honeyed glaze causin' him to lick his lips like some starved idiot. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile at his reaction, her eyes seemin' to light up like she had done alright.

He felt the flush of heat creepin' into his ears, stainin' his cheeks like a damned fool. Daryl embarrassed by his achin' belly shut the bag and glared at her.

"The fuck is this fer? I ain't no charity case, lady. What're you tryin' ta hide?" He fumed settin' the bag rather harshly on the top of the engine hood. He didn't care that he may have broken the pieces of bread up or that she had taken special care to come all this way to bring him somethin' like this. Honest truth, Daryl never had no woman bake him anythin' like that before and it somewhat softened his temper. His problem with the mousy thing before him was that he had allowed this woman to chisel down his walls in one single gesture and he weren't havin' none o' that today. He'd already bent over backwards waitin' on her hand an' foot to grab her girl and now wastin' his time dilly dallyin' with some familial bullshit he wanted no part of.

Carol's smile faltered. "I wanted to ask that you not say anything about finding my daughter or meeting me here." She mumbled in between playin' with the hem of her sweater. Hell the damned thing was just as ratted as her bag from the looks of it. Had she never seen the inside a one a them fancy department stores? He'd never be caught dead in a place like that with its shiny floors and perky sales clerks bombardin' him with fruity colognes and cheeky sales tactics. He was terrified of shit like that with their fake smiles and overly happy voices. It was disgustin' the way they whored themselves out to the general public fer that extra dollar a week.

A small hand waved in front of his face, shakin' him from his thoughts and he shuffled back from Carol havin' not seen that she'd moved in close ta him tryin' to grab his attention. "Sorry! You weren't sayin' anything. Didn't mean to scare you." She apologized. He noticed the hint of worry in her tone and shrugged like it were nothin'.

"Don't say anythin'. Right. You don't want that husband a yer's findin' out, right?"

The color in her skin drained and she looked like she was on the brink of havin' a panic attack. "How'd you know?" A hand flew to her mouth tryin' a hold in her gasp. She acted like he didn't notice the horribly applied makeup or the way she carried herself, shoulders drawn down like the world was out ta punish her fer existin'.

Daryl snorted at her statement, lip curlin' up. "You act like I'ma hitcha if I look at ya funny or tellin' me not to say shit. Only time I ever heard shit like that is when ya want someone not knowin' somethin'." He shrugged at her like it was no big secret ta him. The wispy-haired woman looked ta be on the verge a tears the way she seemed to cower at the stark realization of what she had done. He hated when they cried. He never knew what was wrong with 'em or how to calm 'em down. Bizarre creatures women were and he had no clue how to deal with 'em. A mystery to him they were.

There was only one way he would be able to keep the woman from cryin' and he knew he would kick himself fer it. Trouble seemed to know where to perch itself each chance it got. And it sure as hell knew the name Daryl Dixon.

"Fine. I won't tell nobody." He grumbled through a scowl, rollin' his eyes all the more that shit was never easy fer him. Even when it should be, it weren't. Always had ta be some kinda catch.

He glowered at the woman as she seemed to perk up slightly. There was a plea of thanks and hope in those misty eyes that had seen a lot more shit than Daryl could figure. What was one more rung of problems fer him on the ladder he had already climbed?

Carol bit her lip before thankin' him one last time, holdin' out her hand as a sort of peace offerin'. Daryl eyed her slim hand with the gaudy silver band on her ring-finger. It was a mockery of the marital vows she and her piece a shit husband had pledged, but who the fuck was he ta judge? He'd never bedded down with a woman, more or less held one a their hands. Weren't like he was one a them bachelors that had all the ladies clamberin' to get into his pants.

He sighed before quickly shakin' her hand and lettin' it go. Carol softly smiled at him before walkin' up ta him, touchin' a gentle hand to his shoulder. He recoiled from her grasp, watchin' as her thin-lipped grimace never faltered. He could tell that he had hurt her by his reaction. It was her eyes that gave her away. The slight flinch at the corner of her eye as if he had already struck her with some invisible force. He didn't like bein' touched. It was as simple as that. It was her reaction that made him feel bad. He weren't no woman beater. Even if this mousy woman did annoy him, he'd never thought to strike her fer anythin' of the sort. It wasn't his nature, nor would it ever.

"Thank you, Daryl." Without a skip of a beat she was gone.

Daryl didn't stop watchin' her as she left. The way her slouched shoulders still pulled her down by the weight a her worries and shitty life she had ta endure, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. His hands slipped into his pockets, pulling the half-empty packet of cigarettes out. He removed two, tuckin' one above his ear and the other placing between his lips. He lit his cigarette and took a drag, lettin' out the smoke through a half sigh.

What the fuck had he just gotten himself inta?

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**A/N: Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

Ferris Wheel Blues

I am so sorry for the delay! No excuses! I will lI kelt be posting more regularly. I've had lots of RL stuff on my plate. But no more! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for waiting!

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to its copyright holders and all that jazz.

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Chapter 4

The crumpled bag was opened on the table amongst the litter of bottles an' trash, but it sat there neatly all the same like it didn't belong. An eyesore really. Daryl leaned his back against the counter starin' at the bag as he carefully pulled a small chunk of cornbread the woman, Carol, had made for him the day before. He'd stuffed it away in the ratty trunk at the foot of his too-small bed, knowin' well that he'd do well to hide it from wanderin' hands.

It weren't like things were shared communally amongst the carnies. Nope. Everything was an all out take what ya can without a second thought type of nonsensical bullshit trope. It might have been bought with the money you'd earned but it didn't belong to you. By any stretch of the word, not a damn sense of the word.

Daryl had learned the hard way the lay of the land in his new 'family' as it were. Nothin' was yours: women, booze, smokes, or the like. Taken at any time, as if there was much to be claimed anyhow. He'd left home with nothin' but the clothes on his back and a gunny-sack containing a few of his tools and a few bits of deer jerky he had hunted a week ago. The tools— they weren't his neither.

Pawned. Gone.

Weren't much that could be done. He didn't belong. He may have looked the part with his scruffy appearance and mean as a dog snarl, but he weren't loud and callous like the rest of 'em. Daryl quietly stuck to himself. Didn't need nobody. He clearly hadn't needed her, but she'd came to him all the same bearin' a courtesy to buy his silence. The fuck were he goin' to talk to anyway? Not like the rest of 'em liked 'im anyhow. Jackson didn't treat 'em all the same. Daryl was 'special', as all-encompassing as the word got. He still got kicked around like a sack a shit, but was often given the blind-eye to do as he pleased half the time.

He'd never understand why. He frankly didn't give a shit. Just as long as the rest of 'em left him be, he was fine with that. He weren't one for company and kept it as such. That was until she came along.

Daryl continued starin' at the bag with it's prim corners still intact where she probably took a good amount of her time figurin' how to fold the damned thing. Make it out like it were some important bag that was the end all be all. There was still a large half of loaf left inside and he weren't sure whether he should scarf it down or save it like he had been. Despite it having sat inside his trunk the past day or two, it still retained its freshness. Didn't go stale none neither. This here was real home-made cornbread like his Gran used ta make.

The thought stirred a bit in him. Made him miss his Georgia woods and his run-down home at the end of the road with its overgrown dead lawn and the rusted beat-up trucks on the side of the house still in the process of bein' restored. Their parts strewn about the ground waitin' to be put back where they belonged. It was the token red-neck piece a shit hovel. The bastard house at the end of the row.

All the neighborhood kids picked on 'im like any of it were his fault his house looked the way it were or the way his Ma and Pa would scream and throw shit at each other on their front porch at all hours of the day. In spite of it all, he missed that fuckin' house and all its shitty memories. At least it was some place to call 'home'.

Daryl hesitantly reached out to the bag not sure if it would snap at his hand for wantin' more of the soft bread that waited for him— that had been made specially for him. The thought tickled his brain some. Confused him really. Why a woman would even bother with his useless ass to make somethin' like that fer him, it was without a doubt a baffling thought. Before he could grasp the bag to take it back, Tommy came meanderin' by with his busted nose and thinning hair snatchin' the bag up without a second thought.

"Give it 'ere." Daryl barked stepping away from the counter, chest puffed, his stance tall, chin tipped up slightly. He weren't in no mood to be dealin' with this Mickey-Mouse bullshit. Not today. He already had a long day ahead of 'im and playin' keep away was not top priority on that list.

Tommy smirked at Daryl's reaction tuckin' the bag down into his baggy pants, cocking his head as if to dare him to try. "Well, don't be a pussy, Darylina. You want it? Go ahead an' take it." He chided through a tooth-rotted grin.

Daryl's lip curled and he huffed. He quickly deflated and went back to the counter, shoulders dipped low, arms folded across his chest. His steel blue eyes narrowed into a hard glare at the sickly lookin' man.

"Yeah an' you'd like if I did it too, you sick fuck." Daryl skulked dipping his head at the wasted carnie, lip curlin' up into a snarl.

He could swear he never saw Tommy eat a damn thing and he saw most shit that went on about the tents. They all thought he kept to himself and just went about his business, but he was highly observant. The man was as thin as a rail with lean stringy muscle showin' through paper-thin skin. Frankly, it was disgustin' to say the least and it made no sense how the man was still standin' with such low body fat.

He knew he himself had lost weight livin' and travelin' with the carnival troop. Food was slim pickin's and some days none at all. He'd noticed that overall he was less soft in the middle and gained lean muscular mass in his arms and chest havin' ta drag heavy crates around, liftin' shit, but mostly malnourishment. He wondered if he'd ever get to that point where he was as crazed as an animal wanderin' the grounds a shell of his former self stuck in this fuckin' hell hole the rest of his days like Tommy did. That's all the man's life was now: this carnival band. It was sickenin' to say the least.

Daryl sneered at Tommy before pushin' off the counter, eyes trained on him as he moved past him. Leavin' him be. Ain't like he were worth the time to be triflin' with dumbasses anyhow. He'd have enough of 'em to deal with since he'd somehow got stuck trekkin' the local high school auto-mechanics class through the grounds, showin' 'em what he did and the like. He hated kids let alone ones that had sass in their mouths like the drop in their balls made 'em men. Made 'em less inclined to think he knew shit about what he were talkin' about because of his affiliations.

Redneck trash. He could hear his Daddy's words in his ears. He'd never cared much for stereotypes but when these words were spat at him by his own flesh and blood the words bit and made him wish he could crawl into the deepest hole underground and never come out. His Daddy was full of harsh stereotypes. Hateful colorful words he was embarrassed enough to never repeat.

The mechanic sighed through his nose, pawing the ground with his feet. He wanted ta get this thing over an' done with so he could rest up for the evening festivities.

He hurriedly scratched at the scruff on his chin wonderin' where it was this high school class was comin' from so he weren't late. Daryl was always punctual if possible. There was never any excuse why a person should be late when they knew ahead of time where they were supposed ta be. It was only common courtesy from what he saw of it. He shrugged his shoulders removing the cigarette tucked above his ear. He lit it up and took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a moment before exhaling a steady steam from out his nose. He took a step forward towards the south gate but then stopped thinking better of it. Maybe he should just wait like he planned to.

The mechanic knocked the ashes off the tip of his cigarette before taking another inhale, holdin' the smoke for a brief second. He heard a scoff as if it were any o' their business he was smokin' then a scolding tone that immediately followed after. "Mr. Dixon, am I right?"

Daryl swiveled behind him so fast one could have sworn he had just been slapped. His eyes widened slightly chokin' on the smoke in his lungs. He thumped a fist against his chest tryin' ta get back his breath. He found the woman with the delicious corn bread from the other day standin' in front of him, brow slightly furrowed. Her bruising had all but gone 'side the light purple that she used to cover it with an eyeshadow that made her blue eyes stand out more vividly than when he first caught a glimpse of her the day before.

"That class is the reason you shouldn't smoke." She replied tightly tryin' her best ta not smile at the incredulous look on his face. "This is Mr. Dixon. He will be our guide for the afternoon."

Daryl glared at her as he pinched the end off the cigarette, tuckin' the remaining half 'bove his ear. He snorted at her formalities hatin' the way the sarcasm seemed to drip off her words. "Just Daryl. Mr. Dixon is my Pa. Or Dixon. Honestly, I don't give a f—" he stopped mid-sentence when he caught her own piercing glare aimed at him— darin' him ta finish his sentence. He'd seen that look all too often from his Ma when she were sober 'nough to scold him or Merle fer causin' a racket while she watched her soaps. He huffed realizin' he had a large group of kids watchin' their exchange. "Just Dixon." He grumbled stickin' his hands into his jumper pockets, kickin' up a bit of loose dirt. Who tha hell did she think she was makin' a mockery of him like that? Like she were any fuckin' saint with her shitty husband always beatin' up on 'er like he did. He shook as head in frustration knowin' he would have ta behave.

He cocked his head back up at her takin' in her appearance. Her cropped hair was wispier than normal with loose locks curlin' up at her ears and a light scarf wound 'bout her neck. The mechanic could only assume it were to hide any other marks her husband had left on her in the previous days since he had last seen her. He then noticed the garish bangles at her wrist and the creep of blue hidden by the chunky bracelets. This woman. He thought tryin' ta figure her out. She still smiled despite how shitty her life was. How was she still fakin' like everythin' was okay? Daryl turned slightly to glance back at the class of students waitin' awkwardly or talkin' loudly with another classmate.

He huffed turnin' to examine the crop that she had ta offer him. They all seemed ta have the same stupid look on their faces like they weren't sure why they were there in the first place. He wrinkled his nose, finding his hands settlin' at his hips. "Y'all are wantin' to be mechanics or what kinda class is this again?" He replied directin' his question to the woman. Weren't this class a mechanics course? Carol. Had that been her name, too? He couldn't remember, but he was sure that was what she had said. He'd tried ta ferget she had even made a deal with him. He wouldn't talk and she would just leave 'im be, but somehow he found that this weren't goin' ta be true. She was one of them women that couldn't be shook off no matter the distance. He found that a bit unsettling as he directed his gaze back to her.

The mechanic saw the way she swallowed to clear her throat, clappin' her hands to gain the attention of the class. They seemed ta stir but only a bit. He caught sight of a few with their phones out. Their attention stuck on the damned screen as the woman beside him began ta speak. He felt the urge to snatch the phones up and smash 'em on the ground so they were givin' the woman their undivided attention, but knew that weren't the best thing ta do. He shifted uncomfortably in place, crossing his arms at his chest watchin' her guide the class.

"Okay! Today class we are just going to learn a little bit of the maintenance that goes into keeping such machines going and perhaps if we have time, maybe we can all have a go on one of the rides." She announced her timid voice echoing loud with confidence toward the students. It seemed her talkin' got them to stop their fidgetin' and give her the attention she desired. He furrowed his brow not understandin' how she managed to command such a presence with 'em when they seemed to have naught a bone of respect in 'em. Daryl shrugged rubbing the back of his neck as she gestured towards him to begin the tour.

"Guess just follow me. Ah—" he paused not sure where he should be startin' when there was so much ta do in any given day. He reckoned the first place ta start would be with his normal routine of tunin' up the Ferris wheel. He motioned for the lot to follow him as he took long purposeful strides towards the attraction.

He heard her steady foot falls beside him and made him a little uneasy by how closely she followed behind him. He thought he heard her meek voice softly as she caught up with him. Daryl turned his head to get a look at her. "Didn't think you would actually go through with this." She said timidly her gaze fallin' ta the end of her scarf as her fingers fidgeted with a loose thread.

There it was. That small, fearful woman he had met days before. She was amusin' the way she let her guard down with 'im but also disconcertin'. It made no sense why she'd be so at ease to throw down her walls fer him. "Weren't like I had no choice. Just was told I had a class ta teach and that was that." He replied dryly not wantin' ta talk ta her. As far as he knew, he owed her no favors. He did as she had asked of him and that was the extent fer his deal with her. Could it be that she assumed he'd talked? Were those bruises from someone havin' seen her and her kid that night? Someone havin' told her shitty husband and she assumin' it had been him? The thought irked him and he felt his lip curl up slightly in agitation. The fuck was he doin' carin' 'bout what she thought anyway?

He led the class 'round the back of the platform the Ferris wheel sat on and he pointed at the chipped and weathered blue box the engine trembled inside. He thumped it lightly with the flat of his hand as he waited fer the stragglers ta make their way toward him. He unhooked his keys from his hip and undid the lock pocketing both items. He threw open the hood of the engine as he listened to its hum.

Today she was havin' a good day. 'Least from what it sounded like now. She could easily throw a tantrum and send his whole night inta calamity. He hoped that weren't gonna be the case.

"This is the Ferris wheel. Probably the most used attraction we have here. I'm the lead technician fer it and so it's my job ta make sure it's up an' runnin' each night." He drawled not certain what it was he should be talkin' bout to them. He still had no clue what kinda class it was she taught either. She hadn't said a word since she had spoken up after her schpeal to the kids 'bout their day.

Daryl looked to the woman for guidance but found she only nodded her head ta get him to continue. He shrugged a bit shakin' his head not sure what more he could say. He didn't know what most things did inside the engine just that he seemed ta know how ta make the damned thing sing when he wanted it to. Never really learned since there weren't no manual for the fuckin' thing. Jackson just shoved him toward it and said, "This better be fixed 'fore I get back or yer ass is gon' be sorry ya asked fer a job from me, ya Dixon bastard."

Somehow he had managed to figure out what did what by trial an' error as it were. Seemed that every 'know-how' had given up tryin' ta fix it. Everyone 'cept fer him. Daryl had never been a quitter. Even when he knew he was a licked dog he always managed to stand right back up and take 'nother hit or two before acceptin' defeat. Despite how his Daddy had whipped him good growin' up, he knew that Dixons weren't no quitters. Knee-high that shit was pounded inta him as if it made him more mean like his Daddy had wanted him ta be, but he knew he was different. Tried as his Daddy might, he weren't like his brother Merle.

Daryl had always been the disappointment, but Merle did what he could tryin' ta protect him 'till he couldn't take no more from their Daddy. Last he had ever seen of Merle had been near decade ago when he had gone ta join the Marines. Never did see him after that 'till he heard word Merle had been discharged fer punchin' out a Sergeant likely runnin' his mouth not knowin' who he was dealin' with. The idea made a lopsided grin creep onta Daryl's lips but made him think better of havin' the stupid thing too plastered on his face. He shook his head realizin' he was still standin' front an' center 'fore a buncha dumb high school kids. He sighed heavily rememberin' what it was he was supposed ta be doin'.

He did his best explainin' what it was he did in the mornin' with his daily tune ups and tests to make sure everythin' ran smooth later for the guests to come ride to their hearts content. He snorted at how easily people defaced what weren't theirs. He'd find names carved into the guard bar and the cushions of the seat shredded from likely knives or somethin' else that was sharp that them asshole kids brought with them thinkin' they were tough shit or some dumb bullshit like that.

With nimble fingers Daryl did his normal routine, he mumbled a few words here an' here as he did his check ups, which turned out that it was runnin' just fine— 'least for now it did. He frowned knowin' he would be back later that night dealin' with fixin' somethin' that went wrong with it. He returned his gaze back ta the group of students that just stood there bored outta their minds. What had he expected? He'd likely see half the crop of kids workin' stints at a backbreaking pace at some hole in the wall fast food chain. He figured the woman beside him had caught sight of his reaction and clapped her hands again grabbin' their attention like they were dogs. He chuckled a bit at this duckin' his head as he looked to his work boots a bit awkwardly.

"Well, I suppose that's all for the tour. We'll be leaving in the next hour so if you guys want it's free time to do as you will. If you want to return to the bus, the door is open." She echoed, a smile on her lips. Daryl had caught the flicker of pain in the smile; subtle but there— seen it all too often with his own Ma when she'd visit family and such.

There were too many parallels between her an' his family. It was hard to not feel a bit of sympathy for her. She carried herself better 'an he had most days. He wondered for how long she had to deal with the abuse. How long had she have ta try an' stand tall like she was now? He caught himself starin' at her as she returned his gaze. Daryl looked away rubbin' the back of his neck sheepishly scowlin' at the fact that he had been caught lookin' at her as he did. She probably thought he was some dumb hick with no common decency 'bout him with the way he had been lookin' at her. He snorted at the thought knowin' that it weren't the case at all.

"Thank you," she whispered so softly he wasn't sure he had properly heard her in the first place.

He cocked his head at her, not understandin' what it was she was thankin' him for. "What?" He asked fingers hookin' at the loops of his belt, hip dipped slightly as he adjusted to question her statement. He'd hardly been thanked for anythin' most his life and here she was tellin' him she was grateful but fer what he'd no idea.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt findin' her scarf less interestin' he assumed. "Thank you for not saying anything. I heard— this carnival wouldn't be gone for a while so I wanted to come by with my kids to say thank you maybe get them inspired—" Daryl cut her off, puttin' up his hand to get her to stop her ramblin'.

"This ain't no picnic and it ain't all smiles and fuckin' sunshine neither," he hissed givin' her a look that said she had just wasted her time. "You want these kids workin' like some indentured servant? Shit they be best workin' at some shitty fast-food chain with minimum wage pay." He huffed pacin' a bit like a caged animal eying her as he did a little irritated by her gall of such a thing. She might have meant well, but workin' here was one of the lowest of the lows in his opinion. It hadn't been the best idea he had ever had and the last mistake he would ever make with a job once he had repaid the debt he set out to do. That was for damn sure.

He saw the way she flinched at his words like he had slapped her again. He huffed knowin' that she couldn't help it. Just her nature as were his own. Not like they could change who they was in just a night, but he sure as hell knew he weren't no woman beater. Daryl wrinkled his nose at her in disgust. Was that how she saw him? An abuser? A man that would strike a woman— just ain't him despite his snarlin' nature.

"Why're you followin' me? You don't know me. I don't owe you shit now." He paused a moment in his rant to take a step closer to her. He saw the way she seemed to tremble, shrink away from his movements like he were sizin' up how he wanted to beat her face inta the ground. He felt the anger flare up in 'im at how judgmental he thought her ta be with them judgin' eyes that stared at him as they did. "Kept yer word. Bought my silence with food. The fuck you think I am, huh lady?" He sneered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes looking past her as he took a step back from her. He wouldn't give her nor anyone else that satisfaction. Eye contact. It weren't like anyone gave it to him anyhow. Why should he give it to this woman? He stopped his pacin' not sure what to expect or whether he should expect an answer of some sort from her. Fragile as she was, he knew she'd say somethin'.

The woman flinched again at his sharp words, head snappin' against her collarbone, shoulder drawn up high to shield herself from impendin' blows. He snorted, feelin' his brows drawin' down at the thought. Her eyes shut tight, eyes crinkling at the corner from past worries. She seemed to shrink at his words almost every step of their conversation. She cracked an eye open, settin' her sights on him. Daryl took a step back seein' the way she seemed to bore inta him like he weren't really there. He hated that look. It was like there was no life in 'er. Everythin' just gone.

His breath caught in his throat and he froze when she drew up from her curled in position. She took a step towards him, worryin' her lip like even she weren't sure that what she was doin' was the right call. Daryl stood all the same, dumbstruck by her audacity. She hesitantly reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. He flinched at her touch recoilin' his shoulder a bit from her. "A good man." She replied before droppin' her hand back to her side, fingers claspin' tightly over her hobo bag. She ducked her head at him, avertin' her eyes from meetin' his and walked away without another word spoke.

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A/N: bThank you for reading! Please review! I do look forward to your guys' thoughts!/b


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